


bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints

by pipecleanerFlowers



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Cohabitation, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipecleanerFlowers/pseuds/pipecleanerFlowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years of living with the other Barian lords in the Human World and Vector's been worn out and dulled down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints

**Author's Note:**

> This is the huge BekuRio project I've been working on for way too long, the one that spiralled out of control and ended up being longer than anticipated, but I really enjoyed writing it!
> 
> And I hope you enjoy it too!

Two years ago and it still feels like yesterday when Merag was clawing her manicure down his back and biting his lips back, head slamming back against brick walls and soft pillows and carpeted floors. Vector remembers her pulling at the tie of his school uniform, into the broom closet on the second floor, demanding explanations for who knows what before he cut her off with hot kisses, and she always bent so easily.

She was beautiful when her hair was mussed up, lipgloss smudged, long lashes brushing sharp cheekbones when she kissed back. Her skirt was always hemmed too short, hands always gripping too tight like a lifeline (or a warning), tongue sharp as a knife when she lashed out, wine eyes hardened with admirable determination.

Two years ago and Vector swears it was yesterday because it’s still happening and he’s in too deep when he’s fallen in love for the first and last time.

</3

“You’re ugly,” Vector tells Merag out of the blue one day when he wakes up feeling distinctly Terrible and decides that everyone else in this goddamn mansion needs to feel distinctly Terrible too.

Merag just laughs at him as she cracks eggs into a frying pan. “Liar.”

Obviously, his plan isn’t working. “I hate you.”

“And we all hate you back.”

(He knows.)

Vector decides he needs new material as he pours Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl and splashes milk into it that ends up on the counter because he’s still exhausted from last night when Merag decided she wanted to relive a flashback.

“I remember you saying something a little different last night,” he says, and it’s punctuated with a yawn that makes the line sound less snarky and more pathetic.

“I hope you’re planning on cleaning that up,” she says, ignoring him. “Paper towels are next to the toaster.”

“Not that I live here or anything,” Vector grumbles.

The TV decides that this is the perfect time to blast annoying JPOP. Or maybe that’s just Gilag.

“He does realize Sanagi’s a fucking minor, right?”

Merag shrugs. “Let him idolize her. She’s an idol, after all.”

“It’s too goddamn early for this whiny bullshit.” Vector grabs a spoon and stalks off back to his room, locking himself in so Merag can’t follow (not that she would, not that Nasch would let her now that he’s awake and on the prowl).

He taps a couple keys on his keyboard to wake up his old clunky computer, waiting until it lights up his room with a white glow that pierces his tired eyes. The blinds stay shut, the bed stays unmade, and the smell of sex still lingers in the air. He tries not to relish in it, in the way Merag’s body arched underneath him, the way she bit into his knuckles trying to stay quiet.

There’s still crescent marks where the skin broke and he brushes his knuckles against his lips before deciding to bandage them up in case he gets questioned later. Merag’s sporting new marks on her collarbone and she nearly hit him when they woke up because now she can’t wear that cute dress she was planning on wearing this week, but, hey, whatever, _she’s_ the one who came to him, so it’s _her_ fault.

(Most things are her fault.)

He rummages around in the drawers of his desk to find gauze, the kind he keeps around because human skin breaks so easily and he injures himself much too often not to.

By the time he's done wrapping the gauze, his cereal has gone soggy, but it's still sweet enough so he doesn't bother going back out to replace it lest Durbe start lecturing him about being wasteful and ruining his stupid damn budget.

The budget Mizael disregards on a daily basis with his trips to designer clothes stores and Sephora -- where his employee discount is amazing, but he still stocks up enough to put a noticeable dent in Durbe’s carefully laid out budget -- but nobody yells at him for it because he's fucking _Mizael_ (and _he_ has a job, and _he’s_ helping keep us afloat, unlike _you_ ).

Vector is halfway through his breakfast when his computer decides to stutter into life and finally show him his desktop. He’s still not fully adept at using a computer, so files litter the entire screen when he logs in, from pinup photos and porn videos to school projects and essays. The porn is only there to scare off Alit, who still thinks love-making is “pure and sacred” for some dumb reason.

(He’s never liked someone like Merag, obviously.)

There’s a knock at his door before he can even open Chrome and check his usual Reddit forums and he groans. “Go away.”

“But we need to talk.”

Oh for fuck’s sake… “About what, Durbe? What could be so important at ten in the fucking morning on a Sunday when you’ve all ignored my existence for like, two weeks?”

“Family meeting.”

Vector still doesn’t know why they call themselves that. A family? He sneered at the moniker when Durbe had first suggested they have house meetings to clear the air once in a while, but everyone else thought it was a good idea. They were all in this together, right?

(Wrong.)

“No one listens to me in those anyway, just give me your minutes after or something.”

He still thinks the fact that Durbe even takes minutes is stupid.

“Just come, Vector. It’s… important.” Durbe almost settles on the word, like he’s unsure, and Vector wonders what the hell could be going on. “We’re the Seven Emperors, not Six,” he adds, and Vector momentarily considers this.

It takes effort to push himself up and out of his desk chair and let the rest of his cereal rot into the milk. When he unlocks and opens his door, the sunlight streaming in from kitchen windows nearly blinds him. “Okay, fine,” he says, and Durbe has the audacity to smile like this is going to be abso-fucking-lutely _wonderful_.

They’re the last ones to the living room, because the last time they met in the kitchen it got heated and maybe Vector stabbed a knife into the counter and the kitchen is just a bad idea. So, they decided on the living room, where things are infinitely more plush and non-destructive.

Sanagi is still playing on the TV, though quieter now, and Alit and Gilag are on the floor playing cards on the coffee table. Merag has somehow taken up the entirety of the huge comfy armchair, and Nasch is standing beside her, leaning on the back of the chair and looking as impatient and self-important as usual. Mizael is on the couch and Durbe takes the seat next to him, leaving the last spot for Vector, who scoffs. He stays standing because fuck each and every one of them.

Durbe’s already got his nerdy clipboard and notebook out, turned to a fresh new page, hand poised to take notes. Vector wants to punch them to the floor.

“Sit down, Vector,” Nasch says.

Vector scowls. “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself. So… when the fuck are you gonna stop freeloading and get a damn job?”

Nasch’s eyes glare into his and for a moment they remind Vector of Merag’s eyes last night when he debated rejecting her.

“Have you even been _trying_?” Mizael asks, hand propping his face up as he stares at him, obviously bored already. His hair is a golden waterfall over his shoulder and Vector wants to pull it all out strand by strand. Stupid “I’ve already got a job” Mizael who thinks he’s so higher than thou on his full-time, minimum wage _bullshit_.

“No,” Vector responds finally. “I don’t see why I should bother, killing people isn’t exactly a skill people like seeing on a resume.”

Merag looks like she’s about to laugh while Nasch gapes at him like the stupid fish out of water he is.

“Did you actually write that on your resume, bro?” Alit asks, giving Vector an amused look. Vector nods. “Has anyone called the cops on you yet?”

“Nope.”

Alit high-fives him. Nasch looks disgustingly unimpressed. No one questions the bandages (no one cares).

“Rio, go over his resume later. If he doesn’t get a job in the next week, he’s losing his WiFi privileges,” Nasch says, dismissing him entirely and turning to the next issue: “Alit.”

“Er, yeah?” Alit looks up at him, suddenly looking very sheepish.

“You’ve been buying a lot of chocolate recently, is there something you want to talk about?”

Nasch sounds anything but sympathetic, but Vector figures that’s the closest he’ll ever be unless his crush, Yuma, is around.

Alit pretty much breaks, throwing down his cards, a queen of hearts and a jack of spades. “Well, you know how Kotori and Yuma started dating…?” he asks, beginning to tear up.

Nasch’s jaw tightens and Vectors relishes in the fact that his dumb crush has been all but trampled over.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Well… they’re…” Alit sniffs before launching into all-out sobbing: “They’re DATING NOW AND I CAN’T HAVE EITHER OF THEM AND I’M REALLY HEARTBROKEN AND--” he’s cut off by his own choked-up voice. Gilag inches over to his side of the coffee table and pats him on the back with one of his gigantic hands.

“It’s okay, I’ll never be able to have Sanagi-chan either!”

Vector rolls his eyes. “Because she’s not legal yet,” he mutters. Merag hides another laugh. She’s never been able to take these meetings seriously either, probably because Nasch always takes _everything_ way too seriously. Vector’s half waiting for Nasch to break out sobbing too.

(Wouldn’t that be nice.)

Durbe is still taking minutes, as if noting down everything discussed is the most important thing ever and it’ll affect Heartland City’s fucking economic state of being if he doesn’t do it. Vector wonders when it’ll be over.

“Nobody touch the chocolate, Alit’s got dibs on it,” Nasch says, moving on from that topic as well.

“Any other intervention I need to witness, or can I go now?” Vector asks.

Nasch glares at him.

“Fine, asshole,” Vector mumbles, sitting down next to Alit.

“Okay, warning to whoever has been using Mizael’s brush to stop using his brush.”

Vector wants to laugh because all of their hair colours are too distinct for them not to know the answer, but okay sure. (Not that they’d ever expect that Vector’s been using it to brush the cat Alit insisted on getting because “pets are de-stressing and Durbe is, like, _always_ stressed, so!”).

Mizael huffs and glares at them all, but especially at Vector, who sticks his tongue out at him and starts braiding Alit’s hair since he’s too busy being depressed about his lack of love life prospects to notice.

“One last thing,” Nasch says, and Merag re-crosses her legs and hums as if she knows something. “Rio wants someone to edit her term paper. Any volunteers who are free this week?”

“I will,” Vector chimes in. “After all, you’re so graciously helping me with my resume, aren’t you Merag?”

“Works for me,” she says with a shrug, and with that Nasch wraps up the meeting.

</3

The house is quiet, with most of it’s residents having left for their day jobs, leaving Vector alone to deal with Alit and Gilag pumping each other up in the room they converted into a gym. Human weight machines, treadmills, and stationary bicycles had fascinated them as ways to train, and once a trainer helped them figure out how to work it all, well, Nasch obviously had to invest in a full gym experience for them. His justification had been that gym memberships are too expensive, but Vector knows it was mostly to keep the youngest of them out of trouble. Alit’s always been a bit of a fireball.

Vector sneaks into the kitchen, intent on grabbing something else to eat since he had to dump his cereal earlier and still hasn’t had a proper meal since yesterday morning. Alcor, their cat, is prowling around on the tile and Vector debates giving him another brushing later as he kneels down to pet it.

“Hey Ally, sup?”

It mewls at him and he almost smiles.

“You hungry? Me too.”

Vector stands up, trying to remember where Durbe keeps the catfood, but then Alit swaggers in, wearing nothing but shorts and sports tape wrapped around his hands and forearms, and Vector’s search is halted.

“Hey Vec! Don’t mind me, we just wanted to check if we have any protein powder left since I know we finished one of them last week,” Alit says, peering into the pantry as Vector steps out of the way.

“Sure thing,” Vector mutters.

“Oh, by the way, feel free to have some of the smoothie in the fridge. We tried a new recipe and didn’t realize it made more than two servings, so you can try it if you want to!” Alit grins at him and Vector tries not to gag.

Their smoothies are always bright green, full of veggies, and completely tasteless or awful. Last time Vector tried one, it just ended badly. “Thanks,” Vector says instead. “How’s your workout going?”

“Good, good!” Alit says, and Vector can tell they’ve been pushing themselves by the way his skin is drenched with sweat. “Gilag’s convinced me to try this new technique and it’s so--”

Vector easily tunes him out, since his talks about workout routines can get long-winded, nodding along to whatever he’s saying. Alcor, ever the saviour, rubs up against his leg, tail curling around his ankle, and mewls again.

“Oh, hey Alcor! I didn’t see you there!” Alit says, finally noticing the cat, and he smiles widely as he bends over to pet him. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Vector answers. “I was just trying to find the catfood. Know where Durbe keeps it?”

“In the pantry, next to the cans of tuna,” Alit says. “Here, uh…” He turns into the pantry again and grabs a couple before turning back to Alcor and placing them on the ground. “Which one do you want today?”

Alcor seems to ponder this for a moment before pawing the pink can and looking up at Vector.

“Still doesn’t like me, huh?” Alit asks.

Vector shrugs. “Guess not.”

“He likes you, though.”

Vector shoots him a smirk. “Yeah.”

As Alit checks his tub of protein powder, Vector tears open the pink can and dumps it into Alcor’s bowl. “Hey you go, Ally.”

“Huh?”

“The cat, not you.”

Alit sighs. “You’ll never call it Alcor, will you?”

“He likes Ally better.”

“No wonder you’re his favourite,” Alit says with a laugh. “Oh well, whatever. I can deal with it. And, finish off that smoothie, yeah? It’s good for you.”

Alit gives him a short wave as he leaves with a grin, reminding him once again that he should join them sometime in the gym since Vector’s abs have been looking rather flat lately.

Vector scoffs and sits beside Alcor, watching at least one of them eat a full meal.

</3

Vector is sprawled out on his unmade bed, the scent of last night’s events having finally dissipated enough not to feel guilty about laying in it again. His ceiling fan whirs in its broken state, not making one iota of difference to the temperature, but Vector finds watching the slow motion somewhat soothing as it turns, so he leaves it on.

Lunch has passed and so has dinner, and he’s starving because he ate neither and might as well have missed breakfast too. He wonders if everyone’s doing their own thing yet so he can sneak some of Alit’s chocolate (because it’s the only thing he finds edible when there’s nothing but kale salads, green smoothies, and gluten-free cardboard in the fridge).

A knock sounds at his door and he hates himself for locking in because he can’t just say “come in.”

He gets up with too much reluctance and unlocks the door only to see Merag standing there, laptop clutched under her arm. “So, wanna talk docs?” she asks with sly eyes that only give Vector a sense of unending foreboding.

He steps aside to let her through.

“Sure, why not,” he says casually as she sits down on his bed, crossing her legs even though she’s wearing a skirt that’s much too short for that to be half decent.

Vector pointedly doesn’t stare.

She pats the spot beside her and he sits down, peering over at her screen. “Why do you always keep it so dark in here anyway?”

“To match my soul,” Vector deadpans, and she rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, your resume isn’t bad? It’s pretty standard, did you use a template?”

“What, you think I put actual _effort_ into this?”

She backspaces out the job: _Murderer_ and all the lovely skills (like maiming, torture, card games…) underneath it before taking another look at it.

“Yeah, the entire thing is otherwise fine. You should send some more out tomorrow and see if it gets you anywhere.”

Vector nods as she makes a couple more minor aesthetic changes, watching her eyes reflect the blue of the monitor and dart around the screen in distracted concentration because he knows she’s not focusing on the resume, but on him, and maybe that makes this a somewhat victorious encounter.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” she finally says, tabbing out.

Vector is about to get up and let her out, knowing for a fact that Merag does not actually have any term paper to edit, that it was a lie, that she’s a fucking manipulative bitch (and doesn’t she know that it’s only cool when he’s the one pulling that act anyway?). But before he can even open it, Merag laughs, a short chime from her glossed lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

“We’re done here.”

“What about my paper?”

“It’s probably perfect.” (Like she is.)

Merag slides off the bed and Vector ignores the way her lacy panties slip into view for all of a nanosecond because she has the gall to actually fucking bait him. “What’s so perfect about it?” she asks, stepping right into his personal bubble. “Or have you even read it?”

“As if I need to.”

She huffs and pins him with a glare.

Vector decides that their unspoken friends with benefits arrangement is starting to suck.

“Give me back my jacket and maybe I will,” he wagers.

“It looks better on _me_.”

He has to admit she does look good in it; black on alabaster that would look sickly pale on anyone else, but it’s Merag and she’s not just anyone (she’s _his_ ). “But it’s mine.”

“You _owe_ me.”

His brow furrows, thinking of all the possible things he could owe her for other than killing her. Twice. Which he already paid back in full, so? “What the hell for?”

“For all the times I’ve done this,” she says, right before leaning the rest of the short distance away in and kissing him. He can hear her hand turn the lock on his door and he’s trapped in her.

(She started it, she started it, she started it, _she started it…_ )

She manages to press him against his door, knocking his skull back into the wood, pinning him with hot open-mouthed kisses that he tries not to melt into, tries to remain standing for, because Merag is like an overdose and she’s hard to beat lately when she’s all he wants.

“Kiss me back, asshole,” she mumbles, half-lidded eyes still managing to pierce him with all the ferocity of her glares.

Her fingers slide in behind his ears and up into his shock of red hair and he obliges, but not before he shoots out a snarky “Sure, _princess_ ,” because that’s all he’s got when her breasts are pressing into him, and her knee is shoving itself in between his legs.

His hands finally find purpose as he tugs a lock of her hair and she hisses, lips leaving his as her neck is bared to him and he wastes no time skimming his teeth over it.

“If you leave any more marks, _I swear to god--_ ” She’s cut off by her own moan and Vector wonders if this is as much torture for her as it is for him.

When he finally gains a sense of self again, he pushes her to the floor, and she hits it with a satisfying _thud_.

“What the hell was that for?” She looks dishevelled and angry, but so does he (but he started that way, so it hardly matters).

His hands shake at his sides  because his entire being wants her so badly, but she’s a fucking bitch and there’s no way he’s spending another second with her like this. Not so soon. Not after the memories of last night that won’t fade for weeks on end.

“Get out,” Vector growls.

“ _What_?” she bites out.

“Get someone else to satisfy your stupid human hormones,” he says, hand groping for the door handle as matches her glare. “And leave me _alone_.”

His hand finally finds it and he unlocks it, waiting till Merag has stood up and adjusted herself before opening it.

“Get a fucking job,” she says, before storming out.

It’s only when the door slams shut that he turns around and realizes she’s left her laptop.

</3

Vector’s room is dark, as usual, and his ceiling fan whirs lazily above him as he sits curled up on his desk chair, trying to ignore the ghost of her lips on his.

The drawer is open, a switchblade glinting in the eery glow of his computer, something Yuma gave him long ago along with a 30-pack of pencils that he’s long since shaved to death as per the kid’s advice on how to get ahold of his own destructive tendencies.

Lately, he’s been using it for other things.

(Because second chances are shit and he should have stayed dead.)

The fan keeps whirring and Merag’s laptop died long ago, but he doesn’t dare touch it, doesn’t dare go near his bed, because _she’s_ there and it’s not fun anymore, it’s not amusing anymore, she’s not his toy anymore, and he should just die.

(Everyone would _love_ that, wouldn’t they?)

He tries to breath, in and out, counts of ten, like Yuma told him when he handed Vector a book for anger management and another one for being able to accept yourself, which were both bullshit and never helped with anything (but Yuma helped, he was the only one who tried to help) and the books still sit wedged on his bookshelf between old XBOX games and textbooks.

Vector takes the switchblade out of his drawer, sharp edge still as smooth and lethal as it was the day Yuma gave it to him, gave a weapon to an asylum-case, and he wonders if Yuma would approve.

Wonders if Yuma would still give a single shit about him.

He tugs up the hem of his sweatpants and  flicks the blade against his calf, feeling the cool razor edge slide over his skin, over the white scars that are starting to fade, and wonders if Merag ever noticed. Merag, who’s seen all of him and has never said a word about the good or the bad and takes him anyway, whenever she wants to, whenever it’s most inconvenient.

Merag, who uses him and leaves.

“VECTOR.”

His head snaps up at the yell, eyes wide as he crashes out of his own mind and back into the Kamishiro mansion. The switchblade drops to the carpet, out of trembling hands.

Vector glances over to the bright red LED numbers on his clock that read out “8:52PM” and wonders what anyone could want from him at this hour.

“Vector!” There’s insistent knocks at his door and he frowns.

“What the fuck do _you_ want, Mizael?” Vector asks, unfurling himself from his chair and standing up with languid limbs that would rather drop to the floor. Before Mizael can make any more obnoxious noise, he unlocks his door.

“It’s movie night, are you joining us?”

Mizael’s blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail that he’s swung over his shoulder, a new brush held loosely in his hand, and his face looks freshly washed of all the makeup he had on for work this afternoon.

“What are you guys watching?”

“It’s tied between some action flick and an interesting looking romcom.”

Well, he sure knows where Mizael’s vote lies now. “What did Nasch vote for?”

“Action, what else?” Mizael says before rolling his eyes. “Durbe was with him on that one too.”

Vector smirks. “Of course he was. Alright then, I’ll play tie-breaker,” he says, stepping out of his room and onto the tiled floors. “Ready for a romcom?”

Mizael’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“And, Vector?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I brush your hair? It’s been bothering me all day, it looks like a bird’s nest.”

Vector shrugs. “Why not.”

The seating arrangement has Alit on the floor again, Gilag beside him because they don’t mind the floor when they can use the coffee table to arm-wrestle. So Merag’s on the couch and Vector somehow ends up between her and Mizael while Nasch and Durbe sit on the gigantic armchair, somehow not squished together.

Merag’s got the PS3 controller in hand, with Netflix open on the TV, and she pins Vector with a questioning gaze. “So what did our tie-breaker say?”

“Romcom,” Vector says, and she smiles at him like that’s the right answer and he figures he’s half-forgiven for earlier while Nasch, Durbe, and Alit groan.

The movie starts and Mizael shoots Nasch a jealous look before sniffing and turning Vector around so he can start working on the red pile of hair on his head. Merag glances at him, shifts so her legs are underneath her, and Vector ignores the way her skirt hitches up and the secret smile she shoots at him before hiding it with a hand. He can tell she’s still mad at him.

This is revenge.

The romcom itself is boring, but it still manages to bring Gilag to tears more than once, Alit patting his back because _it’s okay, everyone knows she’ll end up with the right guy at the end, it’s alright, we know._ Merag’s still playing her Ice Queen schtick while Nasch is utterly bored and Durbe is probably reading Heartland Daily articles on his D-Pad.

Merag rearranges herself on the couch so many times, and her low-cut top shows Vector the concealer she’s used on her collarbones. He wants to laugh at the effort she’s put into making herself look effortless on a lazy Sunday in a skirt and loose tee. Every so often, she catches him looking at her (because Mizael’s turned him that way specifically so his hair can stop looking like a bird’s nest and it isn’t _his_ fault his eyes just land on her so naturally like that) and smiles, the one that’s foreboding and cold, that sends shivers down his spine.

During a plot twist, Mizael’s brush snags painfully on his hair.

“Jeez, Miza, watch i--”

“ _Shh_ , she’s about to-- oh my god.”

Vector rolls his eyes. Family time sure is great.

When the credits start rolling, Gilag gives it a standing ovation, overturning the coffee table in the process. Merag declares it was “y’know, okay at best.” Nasch and Durbe look relieved and Alit looks downright _moved_.

Mizael thought it was great and “Thanks Vec, for once.”

It’s nearly midnight, so Alit and Gilag go to bed because Alit needs to get up early for school and Gilag has a strict training schedule to follow. Nasch leaves to get himself some water and everyone else follows suit until it’s just Vector and Mizael, who’s still working through one last stubborn set of knots.

“Do you _ever_ brush your hair?”

“Too much effort.”

“Oh, by the way, can I practice my eyeliner technique with you? My manager still won’t let me work on customers at the Beauty Studio since, you know.”

“You nearly poked a girl’s eye out?” Vector supplies with a laugh. “Sure, whatever. I don’t care.”

“Cool. I need to work on cat eyes and Merag’s busy tomorrow so… er, thanks.”

“Aw Mi~za~el! You’re so _welcome_!”

Mizael scowls at him and tugs the final knot out of Vector’s hair with one last painful pull. “Done. Please try to keep up appearances, you never know when you’ll get an interview.”

Vector turns around in his seat. “You’re optimistic.”

Mizael shrugs. “As much as I like seeing you mope around the house and lock yourself up in your room, it’d be nice if you did something for a change.” He isn’t looking at Vector’s eyes, but rather eyeing his handiwork. “You look so much better like this.”

Vector shrugs. “You look better with the ponytail.”

“Really?” Mizael turns pink, eyes shooting down to the hands in his lap. “I, uh, it was just really hot at work today, so many people because of the promotion and-- well. Thanks,” he ends lamely. “Would, uhm, do you think it’ll catch his attention?”

“It caught mine.”

Mizael’s blush only grows redder. “O-okay. Well. Goodnight. Please take care of your hair.”

“We’ll see.”

Mizael’s features cycle through three different expressions before he stands up awkwardly and walks away, leaving Vector alone.

</3

That night when Vector stares at his bed and debates how much he wants to sleep in it when Merag’s been there twice now in less than twenty-four hours, images of her bare skin vivid in his mind, he wonders why he picked up the knife, why he cares, if anyone would care. (Nasch wouldn’t care.)

Merag’s laptop is still sitting on his bed and he gingerly picks it up and quickly puts it down on his desk, beside his keyboard, before crashing down and wrapping himself in three different blankets that still don’t manage to stamp out the scent of her lingering perfume.

Vector doesn’t fall asleep until much later, till around the time he can hear Alit and Gilag in the kitchen getting ready together for a new day he’s just not ready for.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! It was supposed to be a simple, short one-shot, and then evolved into this huge project that I had to cut down into a 24 hour period in the life of post-canon Vector.
> 
> I thought it'd be interesting to explore a Vector who's been outcasted for a long time due to everything he's done, so this was born!
> 
> Review and tell me what you thought!


End file.
